Nearly Downeast

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We are looking for a post office. One of the oddities I enjoy in rural areas of the country is that every town, no matter how small, seems to have a post office. Well, either we’re not on the main road through these towns (which we are as it’s the only road on the map) or, more likely, the postal clerk wanted to shorten his commute and set up the post office in his living room. There couldn’t be more than 10 people living in some of these towns. Although from the looks of things they each have owned about 3 cars a piece. And at one point, this must have been a well traveled route, for we pass more than a few boarded up motels.

My family has made a game of finding rusty machinery around the country. There’s quite a bit out there and today is no exception. We definitely saw Mike Mulligan’s steam shovel’s cousin and the tractors posted on poles were a highlight for well-displayed rusty machinery.

Clearly the Lupine Lady herself came through here; the lupine bloom in profusion all along the roadside. Lupine and rusty machinery, no post offices. And no gas stations. We’re looking for one to fill up before the border. The one large sign we pass ‘GAS’ sports no price-- obviously a gas station for the desperate, which we’re not... yet.

The border town, Calais, bustles with activity. Could the border truly require this much human support? Apparently they’re not making effective use of the significant quantity of potential employees as the Canadians have chosen to open exactly one customs lane and the line of cars snakes all the way back and through a traffic light. We are at a standstill. Is the border closed? How is it that no one is moving? As we are behind an RV we have no view of what’s happening up ahead so I get out walk up the line a bit. I even find a pizza shop and buy an iced tea before heading back to the car. Sufficient drivers have exited their cars to raise the attention of the border guards, and 2 more lanes are open. The line of cars glides slowly ahead.

Ways to arouse a border guards suspicion:
o wife drives, husband rides shotgun
o solidly dented rear panel and busted taillight
o large suitcase visible in rear seat even though you appear to have an ample size trunk

and the coup de grace, when the border guard asks you to confirm that he is reading your license plate, say no, that’s not it and tell him some totally random string of numbers and letters (okay, not totally random, it was a license plate from another car I drive). Somehow I must have thrown in one comment that removed suspicion; we were allowed into Canada.